Creak—
Xue Cuo trod on something, his face calm. The farmer beside him chuckled under his breath and said cheerfully,
“You’ve stepped on something.”
Xue Cuo thought he glimpsed a pale shadow. His pupils contracted, surprise flickering in his chest. A beat late, he widened his eyes and plastered on an innocent smile. “Really? If Big Bro hadn’t highlighted it to me, I wouldn’t have noticed.”
The farmer’s smile vanished in a blink. His cold gaze locked onto Xue Cuo; beneath his skin, fine-legged insects seemed to writhe, and his pupils stretched into bestial slits.
He gave Xue Cuo a frosty shove. “Then move along. Please, go inside.”
Xue Cuo collapsed weakly to the ground, eyes darting as his fingers shifted the talismans from Little Flameburst to Heaven-shaking Thunder.
The village stank faintly of blood. The old crone who’d tried to warn him was nowhere to be seen.
It should once have been a silkworm village: silkworm racks, mulberry shears, rearing trays at every doorstep. Some households still had hand-cranked reeling wheels outside.
The tools lay long abandoned, rotting.
The silkworm trays seeped blood. The reeling wheels sagged with strands of black-red thread, but no matter how you looked, it appeared far too much like human sinew to be silk.
Human tendons?
Xue Cuo looked up. The bloody miasma had thickened into a scarlet rain. He felt the pulse of a familiar divine aura.
Thar white-gauze figure.
Truly not the least bit humane.
A chill crept into his chest, though with it came the faint tug of karmic threads.
He and Yin Feixue had split paths, yet he alone had stumbled upon this silkworm village. The will of Heaven? Or some hidden entanglement between Xianghuo gods in these chaotic times?
Her Ladyship had ever been passive, never spreading her faith.
Could it be for this very reason that she feared attracting the notice of other divine beings?
In those days, had the Goddess more allies… or more enemies?
A pity. The Divine Dao path had shattered; the jade slips recording it were stolen. Ages had passed, spring and autumn uncounted, and the traces of those gods had faded to nothing. No records, no clarity.
Xue Cuo sighed. From the moment he descended the mountain, things had felt amiss. Yet when he asked, the Goddess only shook her head, closed her eyes, sealed her lips, and gave no explanations.
She only sent him down the mountain.
And to press into his hands the sect’s most treasured heirloom.
He let out another sigh, then straightened his back. Plainly, he and that White-Gauze One shared a Dao-fated bond.
Next time they met, he would certainly send him west to pay respects to the Buddha*.
(*TN: this is an euphemism used to mean “to kill him”.)
Xue Cuo dusted himself off and had just opened his mouth to probe the old farmer further when a huge hand clamped onto him. He turned… and his hair all but stood on end.
Seven or eight bull-headed, snake-bodied monsters glared with eyes the size of bells, their ferocious faces twisted. Seeing him blanch, they burst out in raucous laughter.
“A fresh human scent! Where did you catch this one?”
“He walked right in himself. He came begging for a bed for the night!”
“Hahahahahaha!”
They were hideous. Half-man, half-ghost: skin red or black, torsos bare, bodies hulking, their heads bestial with long ears and fangs, pale-green scales glimmering faintly across their hides.
Grotesque beyond belief, reeking with malice.
Xue Cuo had cultivated under Her Ladyship long enough to recognise them. These so-called Rakshasa* looked like wraiths, but in truth were once human, now warped into the servants of some evil god.
(*TN: Demons in Buddhism.)
The leader seized Xue Cuo, hefting him easily as the pack began discussing recipes. A small Rakshasa piped up,
“Grandpa, shouldn’t we report to the Supreme God?”
The leader has a pipe clamped in him mouth. He was none other than the old farmer. He peeled away his human skin and rumbled, “Aye. An outsider’s come. We ought to inform the Supreme God.”
Another Rakshasa, sharp-eyed and shrewd even in monstrous form, quickly interjected. “Grandpa, we’re all guardians of the Supreme God. That brat surnamed Bo already hogs the divine favour. If we keep reporting everything, he’ll snatch our credit. When the Supreme God wakes, who’ll remember us? We won’t get our share of immortal blessings like that.”
The leader blinked, then nodded vigorously. “That’s so true!”
The others chorused their agreement. The sly Rakshasa pressed on, “Here’s my thought. Let’s wait until midnight. Present a fresh human liver, well-cooked, as a surprise! To capture a god’s heart, you must first capture his stomach.”
“Brilliant!” the ghosts roared. The leader beamed. “Well said! Since we’ll eat at midnight, he can earn his keep first.”
At that, a red-haired Rakshasa scowled, jealousy edging his tone. “You mean… the silkworm maidens? That’d be a fine bargain for him.”
“Bargain?” the leader snapped. “And you’d go, would you? Your tackle rotted off long ago! The silkworm maidens are few enough. We need them breeding more larvae. Go on, take him to the silkworm house!”
While the others prepared cooking pots, the red-haired Rakshasa, sulky and unwilling, dragged Xue Cuo across the village path to a sprawling courtyard.
The gates were triple-locked. A column of blood-qi roared skyward from within, making Xue Cuo’s scalp prickle.
“In you go.”
The red-haired Rakshasa’s face twisted as he unlatched the three locks.
Xue Cuo clung to the frame, refusing to step in. “Big Bro, I’m a god-fearing man. If I’m to die anyway, I’d like to burn incense for my elders at home. Do you have a censer? If not, I brought one of my own.”
Red-hair roared in fury. “Enough blather! I’m letting you taste pleasure. This is your fortune. Stop your excuses!”
With that, he shoved Xue Cuo inside.
No shortcuts, then.
The courtyard was drenched in malice, yet that wasn’t what chilled him. His fingers twitched; a green talisman flared softly, forming a shield around him. He pressed himself into a corner, stock-still.
A rustling sound filled the yard.
Xue Cuo silently invoked the Goddess’ name. No response. He gave a wry smile and muttered through his teeth,
“Broken censer… Next chance I get, I’ll beg the Golden Crow God for a sliver of True Sun Fire! Keep it by me, and no Yin energy under Heaven will keep incense from catching!”
The rustling drew closer.
A bead of sweat rolled down his brow. He formed a seal, gripping his ragged brush like a soldier bracing for battle.
Suddenly, the rustling ebbed away behind him, replaced by the soft patter of footsteps. Xue Cuo let out a quiet breath of relief.
A hand, silent as the grave, patted his shoulder.
Xue Cuo turned, and his brow furrowed tight.
A skeletal woman stood before him.
She did not speak. Her eyes were clouded, as though she could see nothing. Her features were fine, yet her skin was green, overgrown with moss. Ganoderma, lichen, mulberry leaves… countless plants sprouted across her body, even her face.
Xue Cuo could not name them, but he at once said, “Don’t be afraid, jiejie. I’ll leave straightaway. I won’t harm you.”
The woman was silent a moment. Then she raised a hand, pointed to her ear, and opened her mouth. Inside was nothing but blackness.
Xue Cuo froze. The woman sank to her knees, groping at the ground with twisted fingers overgrown with shoots like gnarled twigs. Her face was dazed yet desperate.
Her thin fingers scratched at the earth. Xue Cuo bent down and made out the character: Save.
“You can write? No… could you be a cultivator?!”
He seized her hand, probing with his spiritual sense. Indeed, cultivation traces remained. Once, her realm had been high… at least Spiritual Domain, like that white-furred tiger…
But how could a Spiritual Domain cultivator be reduced to this?
She must have sensed something different in him, and so begged his aid. Shocked, Xue Cuo waved a hand gently before her eyes. Her blank gaze did not waver. His expression sank. Sightless. Her ears had likely been pierced deaf, her tongue, cut away. She could not speak.
Lowering his eyes, his face unreadable, Xue Cuo spread her palm and wrote upon it:
[Who are you?]
The woman’s expression brightened. She knelt upright, steadying her hand to trace on his: [Taolin Island, Shen Qingsang]
[Who harmed you?]
Her face hardened, twisted with pain. After a pause she pressed forcefully into his palm: [Bo Jinling]
[White Gauze?]
She nodded. Xue Cuo was silent for a beat. Then he wrote: [How may I save you?]
This time she was long still. At last she stood, feeling along the wall, and led the way inside. Xue Cuo followed quietly.
The courtyard was small; the house within was broad. The instant he stepped through, his breath caught.
The room was filled with young women. Blind, deaf, tongueless. Some sprawled, some writhed. All were choked with growths of Ganoderma and moss. Unlike Shen Qingsang, their lower halves had swollen grotesquely, round and heavy like silkworms, with tiny hooked limbs sprouting at the sides.
Now Xue Cuo understood the source of the seething resentment above the yard.
He walked past the women until he reached Shen Qingsang again.
Her expression was tranquil. Even after such spirit-breaking torment, she managed to remain lucid. She’d fallen from a high Spiritual Domain cultivator to this ruin. Few in the world could have borne it.
Xue Cuo held her hand in silence. She blinked in mild surprise, then quickly calmed, even showed a faint joy. She traced in his palm: [Sir, why have you come here?]
Xue Cuo did not answer. She grew anxious; she had waited too long for a glimmer of hope.
She wrote: [I know a way to escape.]
[Then why not escape yourself?]
Though her cultivation was ruined, her body broken, she should still have managed to flee. She pursed her lips, thought, and at last sighed faintly as she wrote: [For their sake.]
Xue Cuo’s lashes trembled. He looked deeply at her, then wrote:
[Then I’ll do it for you all.]
[Fear not.]
[I’ll take you out.]
Shen Qingsang’s lips quivered. Suddenly her eyes brimmed with tears. Her fingers shook, unable to hold him. Xue Cuo clasped her hand firmly.
She wrote: [They are dangerous]
He answered: [I am more dangerous]
Shen Qingsang in blinked in surprise, then held fast to him. He patted her hand in reassurance, then released it.
At once she flailed, hands groping for him again, only to be gently pressed back into a seat.
A hand cupped her face, as though examining her. After a while, she felt a coolness on her eyes, as if something brushed across her skin.
She dared not move. Darkness filled her sight.
Time blurred. Then in the blackness, a point of light flickered. It was faint, growing slowly wider.
Her breath came quick. Yet just as suddenly, the light ebbed away, like tidewater. A golden talisman unfurled, swelling to envelop her.
She opened her mouth soundlessly, watching colour surge into the void.
After sometime, at last she could see clearly.
See?
Shen Qingsang blinked. Before her was a dim chamber, beams thick with cobwebs.
And there she saw a face. Radiant as spring blossoms, unforgettable at first glance. In his hand was a battered brush, glistening with golden ink. He gazed at her in silence.
Shen Qingsang gave a sharp gasp. Her cheeks felt wet; when she touched them, they were soaked with tears.
The youth in blue reached to steady her head. Shen Qingsang froze, wide-eyed, unwilling to shut them again, drinking in every sight.
The eaves.
The spider.
The window.
The man.
Something traced across her ear: the sweep of a brush, etching some strange talisman. He drew for a long time.
At last he stopped. Shen Qingsang heard a faint voice, like one descending from the Ninth Heaven itself. It was so tender it made her weep anew.
“Miss, can you hear me?”
Shen Qingsang half-laughed, half-cried, and nodded in bewildered joy.
Yes.
She could.
